Higher Ground--DC
by crossingboston
Summary: Shane is angry at Steve...at the situation that brought her to DC. He pushes and forces Shane to confront some elements of her relationship...whatever it is...with Oliver.


Shane was angry. "Steve, did you have me assigned to this case because you wanted my expertise or because you wanted _me_ here?"

Shane had to know because it made a difference. She was contributing toward resolution of the case, but it all felt contrived. The work she'd done before leaving DC had been clearly and thoroughly documented, and other analysts could have taken her work and built upon it. Yes, it would have taken some time for them to get up to speed, but it could have been done, and this wasn't a scenario where every minute counted.

And now, sinking feeling in her stomach, she faced Steve, holding the file with her report in front of her. She feared she knew the answer, and that Oliver would interpret her part in this mission as yet another woman who mattered leaving him. She had, after all, left him in New Orleans in the middle of a postal investigation.

She watch Steve, saw an almost imperceptible change in his expression. He faltered a moment. "You always were direct with me."

She allowed herself to think for a moment of just how different things could be with Oliver if she was always as direct with him as she'd been with Steve. "I had to be. Still have to be," She began. "In our," she paused, " _relationship,_ you always tried to call the shots. If I'd let that happen, our relationship would have been even more…askew."

Shane almost chuckled at her choice of words. Rita and Norman would have told her she sounded just like Oliver.

"So this is what I think. I began work on this case while I was here in DC because it was assigned to me." She began pacing as she spoke. "I wrapped it up, practically with a bow and a clear report detailing the assumptions and the data that were gathered. Fast forward to now, and you have new information." She stopped for a brief moment, looking at him, still clearly annoyed. "You decided that it would be convenient to have me here, but I think any analyst worth their salt could pick up on the groundwork I provided with only a minimal familiarization period. So why am I here?"

"It's a much more efficient operation with you here, Shane." He said his tone matter-of-fact, but he failed to meet her gaze.

She shook her head, unbelieving. "Right."

He tried to explain again, approaching her slowly, speaking in that soothing tone he'd always used when he'd made her angry. "Shane…look…I know I could have used another analyst, but it wouldn't have been you. I needed _you_. And I wanted to see you."

She looked at Steve, narrowing her eyes, cocking her head to one side. "Steve, we've had this conversation—three times, I believe. Do we need to have it a fourth time?"

He looked at her defiantly. "Well I guess that depends. How long have you and Oliver been dating, or are you still _good friends_? Hmmm?" He was snappy and sarcastic now. Petty.

"Actually, Steve…," She began, but then her voice trailed off. What _could_ she call her relationship with Oliver?

"That's what I thought", he said confidently. There's no ring, no announced engagement. And when I asked you to leave your case in New Orleans, you left and came here."

His confidence annoyed her, and he continued to speak.

"How much longer are you going to wait for him, Shane? You're throwing away a perfectly good relationship for one that may never be."

Shane recoiled, looked up at him, her irritation growing. "I've had a relationship with you, Steve. If it had been perfectly good, I wouldn't have left. And a chance with Oliver is worth more to me than a sure thing with you." She felt herself fuming.

Steve ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. Déjà vu skittered across his mind. He remembered the tumultuous times, but there were great times too. He couldn't fathom the choice she was making…a choice to abandon this second chance he'd carefully orchestrated. Didn't that count for something?

Before he could help himself, a question tumbled out of his mouth. "Do you love him? Do you love Oliver?" He sounded incredulous.

She looked up at him, angry and so over him this brazen manipulation. So over _him_.

She held his gaze, stunned by the stillness, the absolute clarity she felt. She answered the question. "Yes."

As the single word left her lips, her eyes welled up.

Steve picked up an errant folder that had been sitting on the desk, and approached her, stopping right in front of her. "He didn't follow you, now did he," Steve asked, and walked to the file cabinet to put the file in its place.

Shane suddenly couldn't breathe. She needed to breathe. She needed air, and the four walls of this windowless room weren't going to provide the air—or the space—she needed.

When they'd fought in the past, she'd thought that Steve hadn't fought fairly. But this time, as nasty as he'd delivered the sentiment, he'd been right. _Oliver hadn't followed her._

She put down the file she'd been holding, grabbed her bag and walked out of the room, out of the building, and onto the sidewalk, cajoling herself for letting this happen. She pondered the consequences of this misstep on the fledgling relationship—or whatever it was—with Oliver.

She needed to talk to Oliver. She reached into her bag for her phone, found the number for the hotel in New Orleans, and clicked to dial the number. When the operator answered, she quickly said "Room 605, please."

The phone rang once, twice, three times, then a fourth, then went to voicemail. She could picture Oliver saying "I abhor voicemail," but she left one because just maybe he'd listen to this one, listen to her.

When she heard the tone, she began to speak, her voice shaky. "Oliver, it's me, Shane. I…I was hoping we could talk. And I wanted to say I'm sorry." She hung up the phone.

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she used her fingers to wipe away the tears.

She looked up, suddenly remembering to pay attention to where she was heading. She was heading down Massachusetts NE, toward the corner of E street. She stopped and looked to the building on her left, scarcely believing the irony. She turned the corner, found the entrance, put her bag on the conveyer, and walked through the metal detector. She gathered her bag and found a map, making her way toward the escalator, heading down. She found the entrance she was looking for at the back of the building.

As Shane entered the Pony Express Exhibit, she could understand what the display meant to Oliver. A small group of brave souls putting the prompt delivery of mail ahead of themselves, ahead of their personal safety.

It was a small exhibit area. She'd expected it to be larger, but the Pony Express, after all, was only in place for a year and a half of the USPS's rich history. She found herself reading all the plaques and flipping the wooden panels for the interactive part of the display.

This place made her feel closer to Oliver. She understood now how horrific it must have been to have his wife leave him in this place he held sacred. She felt tears threatening and let out a sob, uncertain if it was for Oliver or for herself. She began to search her purse for a tissue.

"Allow me," she heard.

She turned quickly and found Oliver an arm's length away, holding out his handkerchief. She looked up at him, confused, but she accepted his handkerchief and wiped the tears away.

"How did you know I was here" she asked.

He looked serious, and stood considering what he was about to say.

"After you left, I tried, but failed miserably to remain focused on finding Hattie." He averted his eyes and continued. "Even Gabe noticed."

"Everyone—my dad, Rita, Norman, Gabe—they pointed out what I knew to be true—I needed to come here to talk to you."

"But how did you find me _here?"_

When I left, Rita promised she'd find out where you were. She did. When I arrived, I saw you leaving, and as I saw where you were heading, I thought of the words of J.R.R. Tolkien: Not all who wander are lost." I wasn't sure you knew where you were going, but here, you are."

Shane looked up at him. He was calm, and her emotions were stormy and unsettled.

Shane looked around the exhibit and looked at him. "I'm not sorry Holly left you, but I'm sorry it happened _here_ , Oliver. This place, this exhibit, you can feel the purpose, the greatness of what the Pony Express represented. I know that hurt you deeply in this place that you hold sacred."

She looked at the Pony Express sign and back to Oliver. "I also know that when I left to come here—to DC—that I never meant for this to be about Steve, or about you," she hesitated "and me. It was all about finishing a job that I'd started. I didn't anticipate that Steve had other plans."

Oliver searched her eyes. She looked away, wrung her hands.

"I know that now." Oliver said gently. He closed his eyes, steeling himself, praying for courage.

"When I said I saw you leave, I meant I saw you leave the room where you and Steve were…working."

She took a deep breath, blew it out, and held his gaze.

Now it was his turn to look down. "It was ungentlemanly of me to remain there where I could hear your conversation, but it would have been equally ungentlemanly of me to announce myself."

Shane's stomach plummeted, suddenly knowing exactly what Oliver had overheard. "Wow," she said and nodded her head a few times, trying to wrap her head around this sudden tilting of her world.

Oliver recognized her discomfort and hoped he could ease it. She had, after all, told Marek that she loved him.

"Shane," he began, I realized today that my…hesitation…has caused you pain. I struggled at putting a painful marriage behind me and with fear that starting something new would also somehow ultimately lead to pain. But you…you acted with such great courage, such faith. You were willing to cast aside someone who stood in front of you, offering his heart, for the chance that I might offer you mine.

He stepped closer to her, took her hand. "After my dad and I were lost in El Dorado Canyon, I told you that I didn't want our first date to be our last. But still, I feared the change that a date—several dates—would bring."

She smiled and let him continue, knowing that speaking these deeply personal thoughts was difficult for him. She squeezed his hand, urging him on.

"I'm ready now, Shane. I don't want us to dance around the topic of our relationship. I put you in an untenable position regarding the status of our relationship." She smiled through tears and let out a sob. He eased the handkerchief from her hands and wiped away the falling tears.

He drew her closer, spoke quietly. "If you'll have me, Shane, I'd like to be your dance partner, your date. I want us to explore together what our relationship will bring. I want us to begin dating…tonight. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

He looked in her eyes, then let his gaze drop to her lips for the briefest moment.

She smiled widely as she responded "yes."

"May I kiss you, Shane, he asked.

She wasn't sure who closed the distance between them as their lips finally met.


End file.
